


Mea Culpa

by Prosodi



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-31
Updated: 2012-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-30 10:00:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/330503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prosodi/pseuds/Prosodi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark and the things that make you grow up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mea Culpa

Breath comes in fits and starts.

For the first time in his life Tony doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

-

“Looks like they got everything moved in.” Obadiah stands in the kitchen with his hands on his hips, looking across the span of the countertops. He surveys the table, the short distance to the front room. It’s a tiny house, only two stories as an afterthought. The only thing upstairs is a bedroom, a late blooming ad-on that’s more unsightly growth when viewed from the front sidewalk than seamless addition.

Tony guzzles a coke from the stocked fridge in two sips, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Put my porn under the bed and everything.”

“Your mother always was good at hiring thorough employees.” Obadiah smiles a sort of obligatory smile at the kid. It’s still in the corners of his mouth when he pats down the breast pocket of his jacket like he might forget his handkerchief square. “I should get going. Time waits for no man, my boy.”

Tony raises the empty coke can in a quiet salute. He actually shows Obie to the door because that’s what you do when you live in a house. A house that’s technically his. Tony thinks about calling his mom, letting her know the drive up to Cambridge went fine. That they didn’t die in a fiery crash or anything like that, whatever reservations she might have about how fast Tony is behind the wheel.

He decides against it when they linger on the doorstep. Obie can tell them.

It’s a humid August, makes the hair at the back of his neck curl the longer he stands in the doorway with Obie. While they survey the neighborhood visible from Tony’s front door.

Finally, a square hand at the back of his neck. The palm has that feel of skin that once was calloused, soft skin filling in the gaps of sandpaper. “See you at Christmas.”

Tony realizes later that he’s still holding the empty coke can. He crumples it up, throws it in the trash and stands for a long time in the empty kitchen where the end of summer sun streams through the neatly dressed windows and plays across the sleek lines of his collarbones, skinny and boyish through the t-shirt he’s wearing. It isn’t really an accident when he puts a hand on each hip, stands with his feet a little apart and straightens his shoulders. It’s more of an experiment.

-

“It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“Tony-”

“Do you like flowers? I knew someone once. A horticulturist-”

“To--”

“’You can lead a whore to culture, put you can’t make them think.’ Never tell that joke to one. It’s generally a bad idea. It pretty much ends up with you on the side of the road without your pants.”

He fumbles, fingers clumsy. That’s a lot of blood.

-

“Now the other foot.”

Tony puts out his left obediently, a stamping motion reminiscent of an agitated, impatient pony. It’s almost laughable, the irritable impatience on his chubby four year old face. Howard finishes tying the shoe. He knots it twice over and hoisted Tony up onto his shoulders in one smooth motion while he straightens.

Toting him across the garage to the roadster, it’s engine exposed into a single tangle of chrome and raw edges, Howard paused to tip his head back to look Tony in the eye. “You need to learn to tie your shoes.”

He holds the boy’s small hands in his, palms closed around the child’s fists.

-

Pepper’s voice is flat when she says, “This wasn’t on the schedule.”

He can just bring himself to hold her small hands.


End file.
